


Fairy Tales and Nightmares

by angelette



Category: The Unwritten
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Pre-Canon, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelette/pseuds/angelette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzie always liked fairy tales, because they echoed her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairy Tales and Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/gifts).



> Spoilers up until the 'Dead Man's Knock' trade paperback.
> 
> There isn't detailed rape in the story, just slight hints at what happened, but I used the tag for safety.

As far as Lizzie can remember the stories were essential part of her. They are the bones in her body, a hard, sturdy structure she can built herself around: they give her a basic sense of good and bad and the shades of gray in between – for example what happened to her friend, Jane was definitely bad. They are woven into slivers of her soul and heart: they guide her through the confusing maze of emotions, showing what made people human, she could see everything from the deepest, darkest cruelty to the utterly inspiring feeling of love. The stories are like the calming, cold water on a burn mark, when she feels hurt.

 

The books and the tales are the soothing salve and the glue which keeps her together and won’t let her fall apart, though recently she feels herself as if she is stretched thin and being pulled to every direction, so she reads more and more each day if possible. She knows that her role in the upcoming events is important, she is determined to help Tommy, the Savior, just like Sue did in the books, but every day the anxiety gnaws at her more and more. She feels deep in her bones that the change is coming, that she will have to set out into the real world and it frightens her a bit.

 

She thinks that admitting her weakness is progress, the first step to overcome her fears and flaws, so she doesn’t mind the slight tremor as she reaches for the comfort of the hardcover book which always eases the pressure that builds up in her chest, if she thinks too much about the Outside. She can’t help it but the doubts are always a constant leering presence in her mind, whispering, murmuring, like the snake in the Bible. The endless ‘what if’ questions are threatening to suffocate her: the problems range from the apocalyptic ‘What if she doesn’t succeed?’ and ‘What if _they_ get to Tommy first?’ to the trivial ‘What if she gets lost in this whole new world she doesn’t know?’ and ‘What if the taste of utter freedom is so overwhelming, so tempting she’ll loose her focus?’

 

But Wilson won’t see her hesitate, when he comes for her to send her on their mission. Lizzie is so adept at putting a mask on and pulling walls around her, Wilson will see only the resolute glint in her eyes, the need to help to save Tommy and the whole world. And Lizzie wants that, she likes to have something to do, something meaningful, she loves the way how a story – The Tommy Taylor books – defines her. She has a _destiny_ – a word that fascinates her as it rolls off her tongue –, a thing most people pray for and would do anything. They think it’s easier to know what a person has to do in life and in a way it does comfort Lizzie, though she would be much happier if she would know it won’t end in bloodshed and death. The thoughts of violence send a cold shiver down her spine, though she knows she has to do anything which is required from her, but it’s as if her subconscious is telling her something, but she casts away the uneasy notions, and tries to calm herself with her favorite book.

 

Which surprisingly isn’t the _Our Mutual Friend_ – that only leaves a heavy grayness, a strong homesickness in her – but an old copy of fairy tales. Wilson gave it to her, like all of her books and each one of them is a lesson in how the stories are working. And even though she can agree on the complex nature of fairy tales: first they were the stories no one talked about in public, they told the gruesome, the horrible happenings in the world, and then they were the cautionary tales for children later. Stripping the flesh of violence, and the skin of unhappy ending, left only with the bones of the macabre characters, the fairy tales tell about miserable heroes and heroines battling with monsters of the world to earn their happiness, using only the negative space – full of a bunch of things they don’t speak about, lingering between the lines, but not yet on the surface, not really visible – to talk about fear.

 

And that’s the thing she loves the most about them: Even in her early life, in the orphanage, without her education about the workings of storytelling, she understood them; she felt a kinship with them, she could always see her life as some modern version of fairy tale.

 

She remembers being in the orphanage after Jane left and she came to stay. The strict rules, the stern looks of the staff, the stale and smothering feel of the house are vivid in her memories even now, in years distance. And though she was a poor girl before then, and though she doesn’t recall much about her life with her father, the institution made her feel a little uneasy, like she was kept there against her will, and the constant prying about Jane and insisting on seeing doctors didn’t help a bit. She felt like a trapped princess, but in this version of fairy tale she was in foster care without anything resembling to parents, and because stories always had a hopeful ending, she dared to hope someone will come and save her and she dreamed of a ride in a carriage – a feeling she missed dearly – on her way from a midnight ball.

 

But in the end it wasn’t a fairy godmother who helped her, though sure it felt like one. Wilson Taylor, the rich patron of the orphanage, took her to his enormous and grandiose house and sure Lizzie felt as if a miracle happened, that she earned her happy ending. And when she found out that Taylor’s son – though in times a little irritatingly uneducated – is a very good company, she felt her life straighten out, and didn’t wish for anything else.

 

That was the time when Wilson also told her about the experiment, that he opened up a portal between worlds and stories become _real_. She felt light-headed and dizzy, it was such a huge discovery, her whole life made sense in a way it didn’t before. She wasn’t mad or crazy, because she was convinced she lived in a different area, but she was indeed from another world, a Dickens novel at that. This blurred the line between reality and her beloved stories and made the impossible possible, so when Wilson told her that she was the perfect match to be Tommy’s helper in a coming war she accepted the role with a child’s eager and love hungry way.

 

She didn’t noticed the glint in Wilson’s eye than, she doesn’t even know when that occurred to her again, but when her journeys began in stories, and she felt thinner and thinner each time and less herself, she remembers thinking of glass coffins and poisoned apples and that maybe you can’t really tell the difference between a fairy godmother and an evil witch. And again she dreamed of someone to save her, someone to guide her out of this mess, and strangely the face of her dream prince is a little like Tommy’s, but she isn’t sure it’s her own thought or Sue’s or Wilson’s.

 

When she had a seizure, at least that’s what Wilson called it, she’s been transferred to her lighthouse, which she adores and she doesn’t complain. It’s for her own safety, Wilson says, and maybe something inside her thinks of evil witches and evil step-parents and princesses trapped in towers, but she casts away her doubts and obediently learns everything Wilson wants. She isn’t lonely she has her books keeping her company, but when she lets herself she dreams of wind in her hair and the noise and the smell of the city and of being with people, maybe connecting with someone like when she did with Tommy.

 

Tommy’s name always brings anticipation with it, and she can’t help but let her mind ran away with a thousand question: How would he look like? Though she saw photos of him, but it’s not the real him. Will he remember her? She knows she can’t hope that, it was a long time ago and she isn’t that little mousy girl with glasses he played, but a selfish part of her would love to think she left an impression on him. Deep down she wants to believe she can be important on her own, not just someone’s tool, someone’s guide.

 

When Wilson comes for her, to set her off, to send her into war, she doesn’t waver. Her steps are even and confident as she walks the streets of London and breathes in the city and the people. She feels herself like a little girl in a red hood, a little terrified as she wanders in unfamiliar territory, and for her London could be a deep dark forest. She keeps glancing around for the big bad wolf, though she doubts she could recognize them.

 

When she asks Tommy the question ‘Who are you?’ she means ‘Who am I?’ too. Because Tommy isn’t the only one lost, who doesn’t know his name, she is too. The lines of Sue and Lizzie are blurred and she doesn’t even dare to think about Jane. And for once she hopes they will help _each other_ , that they will get through _this_ whatever it proves to be, and that maybe her life ceases to be a nightmare wrapped in a fairy tale and she gets her own much deserved happy ending.


End file.
